“Why?”
“Faraway places have a way of attracting that kind of thing.”
“Disappearances? Or storytelling?”
“Both.”
“Are they true?” I asked in a rush, feeling for the first time closer to the great-aunt I’d never known.
“Some.”
“And the others?”
“Figments of overactive minds, I suppose.” One dark eyebrow arched. “Or madness.”
“They all sound interesting to me, to be honest,” I admitted, taking the last sip of my tea and then setting the cup between us.
“Are you ready for the truth yet?”
“Yet?” I leaned back in my chair, smiling easily at my unexpected tea companion.
“All the answers you’re looking for are right beneath your fingertips.”
“Do you always speak in poetic riddles?”
“Wouldn’t be a good Scot if I didn’t, now would I, lass?” His accent thickened on his last word as his grin deepened.
“If you lay that Scottish charm on any thicker, I may be tempted to stay at Leith forever.”
“Wouldn’t mind the company. Keats is a terrible tea companion.”
A shiver spider-walked down my spine and left my fingers tingling with some sense of awareness that Alder had just used the very term I’d been thinking aboutus. I recovered from the uncanny sense of déjà vu and smiled back at him. “We are good tea companions, aren’t we?”
He nodded once, finished his tea, and then stood from his chair. “Well, lass, hate to cut this short, but it sounds as if you’ve got your work cut out for you up at Leith.”
“I was exploring the graveyard earlier. Do you think Keats would mind if I cleaned the stones a little? Some are so hard to read, and I’d like to know more about the people who lived here, especially when my great-aunt would have been here.”
The muscles in Alder’s broad back bunched, his hands working a tea towel over the kitchen counter as he cleaned an invisible spill. “Have to ask him yourself.”
“He’s a little scary,” I admitted.
“Aren’t we all?” came his reply. I watched him continue to wipe the counter before a soft grunt echoed around the kitchen. He stopped, tossing the towel over his shoulder and turning away to stalk into the tiny living area. He lingered at the single window that overlooked the loch. He was a giant in his own space, so out of place as he ducked to look out the low-hung window. In fact, looking at the distinguished line of his nose and the hard cut of his jaw, I thought he would look more at home in a big manor house like Leith than he did in this small thatch and lime-washed cottage.
“Do you go up there often?” I ventured closer to him. I was drawn to the inexplicable nature of him.
“Not if I can help it.”
“Why?”
“Said so earlier. Keats is a terrible tea companion.”
“But he’s your brother.”
“And?” Alder cut his eyes to mine. “If you knew even half of the story, you’d…” He shook his head. “You’d…” He struggled to find the words. “Well, you should know it. It’s all in the books.”
“The books?”
He nodded once, jaw clenching and unclenching with a seeming simmering anger before he slammed his hand against the window frame with a grunt. “Work to do. You can walk yourself back to Leith, aye?”
